The Wayfarer
by karrenia
Summary: Dean and Sam go to a rural town near Chicgao and learn a lesson in why oneshould not idly pick up hitchhikers. Even ghosts have stories to tell.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Wayfarer

Author: Karen

Rating: General

Supernatural belongs to the WB, its producers and creators, none of the characters including Dean and

Sam Winchester are mine; they are only borrowed for the purposes of the story.

**"The Wayfarer" **

One all but deserted stretch of road connects Chicago's rural areas with downtown as a nasty thunderstorm swept over the gravel road and brushed the tops of the evergreen trees. If there had been any passerby's they might have noticed how unnaturally chilly and silent the night had become.

However, there was no one to observe the figure in the long black duster coat emerging out onto the road, the coat trailing behind in bedraggled stripes,

He escorts another smaller, slighter figure by the hand. A girl with chestnut brown hair and a white satin dress, he walked with her to one of the miles post markings and stood, seemingly waiting for something to happen.

A ways back on that same lonely stretch of road, a black convertible barreled forward and the front headlights the only thing seen for miles.

Because the car belonged to Dean and he treated his car like it was his baby, Sam had not put up much of a protest when his brother insisted on doing the driving.

The only problem with that, in what had become a cross-country road trip in the ongoing quest to find their missing father, was that Dean was developing some significant black circles underneath his eyes. He was starting to remind Sam of a raccoon.

"Maybe we should have stopped and picked up coffee."

"I'm fine. So quit worrying," Dean replied.

"I'm not worried, I'm just expressing a legitimate concern."

"Yeah? Do you want to get out and run alongside?"

"No."

Sam sighed, and chose to ignore his brother's increasing surliness. He glanced down at the dashboard where the lit up display of the clock told him it was at least an hour past midnight. No wonder both of them were beginning to show signs of fatigue. His mind couldn't help cycle through all kinds of half-baked crazy ideas at this hour.

He needed something else to occupy himself, so he reached towards the glove compartment and took out the road map.

He had just opened it to the stretch of road they were driving down, when he was jolted from his seat.

Dean had slammed on the breaks, cursing under his breath, then putting the car into cruise control.

"What the hell did you do that for?"

"Maybe you should take the wheel," Dean replied, glancing over at his brother. " I know the mind plays tricks on you, especially when you're tired and on a night like this, but do you see anyone else on this road?"

"Not since we passed the motel three hours ago."

"Great, so I'm not going crazy, that's reassuring."

"I've got theories about that."

"You've always got theories, but you pick a rotten time to be arguing about this."

Coming towards their car, parallel to them on the left side of the road a man and a young girl were waiting, hitchhikers.

"I think we should stop the car." Sam said.

"I think we should keep moving," Dean replied, shaking his head, squirming around in the padded driver's seat, trying to get comfortable. He stared out the front window, trying to meet the gaze of the man in the black duster coat; the more he tried to lock eyes the more it seemed the man's kept slipping away from him.

It was an odd feeling; not evasive so much as slippery, it made Dean uncomfortable, angry and confused all at the same time. He didn't know what to make of the little girl; she seemed more lost and confused then he was at this moment.

"Why?"

"How many hitchhikers have you heard about that can pass right through a moving car without a scratch on them?" Dean muttered.

"Huh?"

"You heard me. They walked right through us."

"I think we've found our phantom hitchhikers. I mean, we did get that tip from a local family living in the outskirts of Chicago. There must be some kind of connection," Sam said.

"That's our connection," Dean said as he reduced speed long enough to point out a red brick farmhouse with along, wide driveway. The metal mailbox on its post meant that they reached the residence of the Phillips family. At the end of the driveway the house looked well maintained and inviting.

"Oh ye of little faith," Dean added, "I've already got our cover story. That newspaper article said in addition to farming for their livelihood, these fine folks also dabble in local area history, which includes giving guided tours of a museum that specializes in the paranormal.

"Great, we're going to pretend to be tourists," Sam sighed, "I'd think I'd almost prefer our last cover story when we pretended to be U.S Marshals."

"Sam, we can't be official all the time. Let's go."

Dean stopped the car, turning the key in the ignition, parking in the middle of the driveway. Sam got out the passenger side door and walked up the house's front doorway waiting for his brother before knocking. Behind him the sky became streaked with light pink clouds as the sun rose to begin the new day. 'Good thing they're farm folk." Sam thought and shoved the thought to the back of his mind.

In response to Sam's knock on the door, an elderly man, perhaps in his late 50's or early 60's opened the door. "Yes," he sad in a thick Irish brogue.

"Hello, sorry about dropping in unannounced but it couldn't be helped. I'm Jeff Bridges, and this is Beau, and we heard about the museum you run,

ghost folklore and paranormal legends. And well call me crazy but I, that is we, think there might some truth to them." Dean darted a glance at Sam that said 'play along.'

"And you came all this way to find what's what, is that it?" Mr. Phillips asked.

"I guess so. "Dean shrugged.

"I'm surprised anyone would come this far off the beaten path, for our little slice of Chicago history,"

Mr. Phillips remarked. "It's nice to see young people taking such a keen interest."

"Roger," a voice from behind, presumably his wife, said: "Don't just stand there at a half open door, invite them in already. She smiled,

"I've just put on a pot of coffee, you certainly look like you could use some, and I'll have breakfast on the table in a jiffy."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Phillips," Sam said, "but we wouldn't want to impose. We will take you up on that coffee offer though."

"Breakfast, did you say?" Dean added. "Oh, for breakfast we could impose."

Later

On foot this time, Dean and Sam, led by Roger Phillips and his wife Sarah, walked out to the stretch of highway where, according to local legend,

an accident occurred, one which dated back to the 1800's, in the days of the horse and buggy.

"It's tragic, really, when you stop to think about." Sarah said, shook her head then scuffled her booted feet in the loose gravel of the road.

"How the wee lass perished." Her thick Irish accent more pronounced as she became more agitated, getting deeper into to the story of Mary and her legal guardian, Douglas Merrimack.

"If it weren't bad enough, what with losing her parents to the yellow fever, to have her go at the same time, well it's enough to just about melt your heart."

"What happened?" Dean pressed, anxious to move things along.

"Well, it seems that Merrimack had got mixed up in some rather shady business, or as some do tell it, he was being yanked around by folks claiming

a share in young Mary's inheritance after the death of her parents. " Sarah kept walking holding the hem of her dress balled up in her fists so it would not drag in the dirt and dust of the road.

Her husband picked up the tale. "One would think that in matters of inheritances the members of the deceased's family wouldn't squabble over the biggest pieces of the pie,"

Roger darted a significant glance at Dean obviously expecting some kind of response.

Dean paused, thought it over, and nodded, "One would think. So, what happened?"

"They had a falling out. And eventually no one in the family would speak to each other, or at best kept their distance."

"I suspect the poor thing's heart gave out. I heard tell Mary was always a bit on the frail side and, officially, they say the yellow fever did the rest. I always figured she just didn't want to go on alone"

"I guess you would know better than us," Dean said, "since you run the museum and all, but don't ghosts usually chose their place to haunt because

of some kind of unfinished business at the time of their death?"

"Good guess," Roger replied. "I think that's what happened to Mary and her guardian."

"How did the pair end up haunting this particular stretch of road," Sam asked, glancing around. "If I were a ghost, and mind you that's a big 'If, I think

I would pick a little bit nicer place to haunt."

Sarah chuckled. "Dearie, I think you are a long way from have to choose your place to haunt."

No sooner than Sarah mentioned that the growing early winter chill in air dropped by several degrees and the early morning ground fog rose up from the ground. In the back of his mind Sam thought it resembled the kind of fog that you'd see in the movies when they brought in the special effects people. 'Nice atmosphere,' he thought.

The phantoms Dean had seen earlier, solidified out of the fog, one dressed in the torn and bloody white gown; the taller and older phantom dressed in black duster coat and top hat. The older led them out to the edge of where road and tree line met and took up a waiting posture

"Do they know anyone is here?" Dean asked. "They look like they're waiting for a ride."

"Sometimes," Sarah replied, "With ghosts its difficult to know their exact intentions, but I don't believe they mean anyone any harm."

"I guess there are exceptions to every rule." Dean ignored the speculative look in Sarah's eyes when he said that.

"You've been watching too many horror movies," Roger said. "I suspect the legends of a phantom hitchhiker did have its origin in tales of lone motorists late at night encountering the phantoms and coming to grief. Mary is not that sort.

"I guess that ends the tour," Sam said watching the pair dissipate into the evaporating mist.

As Dean and Sam got into their car the next morning, waiting for the engine to turn over, a basket of baked goodies in the backseat; Dean turned to his brother.

"Amazing, isn't it, how that couple adopted a pair of phantom hitchhikers. Treat them almost like family. You've seen the movie Route 66, right?

"I'd rather not speculate on that right now," Sam replied. "Although, it would make for a fascinating paper, but I don't intend to write one."

Dean pulled out of the driveway and back onto the road, a few miles in Dean replied. "Who knows, you might yet get to write that thesis on the existence of the paranormal, we've certainly managed to amass quite a bit of practical evidence."

"You do manage to surprise me once in a while." Sam smiled. "Gotta find Dad first, right?"

"Of course," Dean replied. "I promise you that."


	2. Chapter 2 The Dead Boy

Title: The Dead Boy Fandom: Supernatural belongs to the WB) and is not mine. Set shortly after the episode "Skin".

"The Dead Boy" by Karen

Somewhere outside of Boulder, Colorado

Dean wonders how long it will take the grease monkeys in the auto mechanic shop they found a few miles down the deserted road to fix his car engine.

It should not be taking this long and Dean does not have the patience to put up with delays and double talk about car lingo.

Sam went into the 7/11 store and Dean can just now see that his brother is coming out with two cups of styrofoam coffee cups in hand.

"Anything?" Sam asks as he hands Dean one of the cups and sits down ona wooden bench.

"I don't how you can be so calm about this," Dean muttered.

"It wouldn't kill you to relax a little bit."

"I bet you learned those relaxation techniques in that fancy college of yours, well, it might work for you, but I'll take unexpected setbacks in my own way, thank you."

"Fine. Whatever." Sam shrugged and sipped his coffee. "I think we are probably lucky to find an autobody shop open this late."

"That car is my baby, I'd hate to see anything happen to it."

"If you had put in the anti-freeze like I told you when we left Colorado we might not be stuck here now."

"Fine, you were right and I was wrong. Happy now?"

"Yes."

At that moment, with Dean wavering between waiting out in the parking lot and barging into the auto body shop the brothers could hear the unmistakable sound of police sirens approaching. The sound followed shortly by a patrol car with the state of Colorado license plates and stripped with brown and white lines.

"It's got nothing to do with us, right?" Sam asked, finishing the last of his coffee and tossing the empty cup into the nearest trash receptacle.

"You are way too paranoid."

"Occupational hazard," Sam replied, following the progress of the patrol car with his eyes.

"I guess you have a point there, but if he is here because of what happened back in town, I think we can bluff our way through this. I've got documentation in the trunk somewhere that we're legit."

"Please, don't remind me."

"Sam, give it a rest, okay." Dean muttered under his breath about yet another delay in their travel plans.

The driver of the patrol car pulled off the highway and onto the side straight where the convience store and auto mechanic shop was situated. The officer turned off his brights and turned off the ignition before he pulled into a parking lot, and got out of the car.

The officer was an older man, the one who been the last to leave the scene of the demise of his 'the skin walker.' Dean's devil-may care nature vying with his common sense, told him that he was going to have to do some quick thinking on his feet if wanted to get around the entire question of his 'legally dead status."

Dean sat down next to Sam and whispered: "Let me do the talking."

"You are supposed to be dead, remember," Sam whispered back. "Let me handle this."

"Sam Winchester, I presume?" the officer said.

"Who's asking?" Sam replied.

"It's late, son, and I don't have all night to stand around and play word games. Either you are or you aren't and I have questions to ask of you. The name's Officer Tim Ferguson.

"To answer your question, yeah, I'm Sam Winchester."

"Officer Tom Ferguson, Colorado State Patrol." He pulled out his badge and waved it around. "See, I'm following up the investigaton conducted several days back by the Boulder Police and you and your brother, Dean, showed up more than is strictly comfortable during that investigation. Care to tell me why?"

"Will you believe we were in the right place at the wrong time?" Sam began, knowing that he could not very well launch into a lengthy explanation on how the paranormal world existed alongside the everyday world. If he had tried, not only would he not be believed,  
the officer would more than likely call the men in the white coats and the padded trucks.

"Not for a second," Ferguson replied.

"Aside from the uncomfortable deaths of several visitors and campers up on the ridge, and the hiking trails, I'm not certain I buy all this mumbo jumbo about paranormal activity occuring up there." Ferguson nodded and rubbed a hand through his salt and pepper thinning hair.

"Maybe it was a cult?" Sam suggested with conviction in his voice.

"Maybe, stranger things have happened." Ferguson glanced over to where Dean stood silently fuming. Fergunson blinked and raised the backs of his hands to his face to rub the grit of lack of sleep away, and blinked. "I've got a good memory for faces, did anyone ever tell you that you look an awful lot like the the guy who was buried, but never actually got charged for the murders?"

"No." Dean smiled, a faint thinning of his lips. "Must be a concidence. After all, you said it yourself, sir, stranger things have happened."

"I'm not trying to make trouble for you boys," Ferguson grinned. "I'm just trying to do my job. By the way, where's your car?"

"In the shop, there's something wrong with the engine." Dean said.

In the time it took the cop to glance over at the door to the shop."You mind if go inside and run a trace on your liscene plat? Strictly business, you understand?"

"Sure, knock yourself out," Dean replied.

Dean grabbed Sam by the elbow and pulled off to one side. "I think we're through the worst of it. Maybe we've answered all of his questions and then pay him off."

"With what, the credit cards?."

"Will you lighten up?"

"Hey, maybe next time we work a case I pull off my impersonation of James Dean, live hard, play hard, die and leave a good looking corpse."

"You really are impossible, you that. And have I mentioned lately that you are incorrigible." Sam muttered.

A few minutes later Officer Ferguson came out of the shop.  
"You're clean. And I heard what you said about imitating James Dean, while that glamarous Hollywood lifestyle might look appealing, trust me, Misters Winchester; it is all substance and no style."

"You said it, man," Dean smiled, thinking as he did so,'You have no idea what we've been through, but I appreciate the sentiment.'

"If you want my advice, and you don't want to end up like those pour souls up at that campsite, you stay out of trouble and you live a lot longer," Ferguson smiled, said good bye and walked back to where he had parked his car.

As soon as the officer left Dean nudged Sam and let out a amused whistle. "And you were worried."

"Let's just check and see if the car is done and get out the hell out of Dodge."


End file.
